


Ghosts

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Rung's old ship goes to a haunted station and it changes the course of his life, Self Isolation, and now, character piece, enforced isolation, eventually lol, the Lost Lights going back to it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Before the Lost Light, on a far away space station, Rung encountered a ghost.Moving forward, he's not sure if it's destroyed his life, or fixed it.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very weird, personal fic.
> 
> I'm going through a bad breakup and some other shit and I essentially used it to get a lot of emotions out. It goes on for another chapter, but I'm honestly not sure if I'll finish it or not. It's a Rung character piece but with a literal added haunting. Something creeping, hanging about in the background of his life. Horror/introspection. Whirl doesn't show up until the second chapter and then it becomes a bit about him as well. 
> 
> Warnings: ??? I'm honestly not in a good enough place to figure out what a good list of warnings would be. There's a lot of both self isolation and enforced isolation, suicide idealation kinda, and just a lot of idk, feelings.

_ This time I might just disappear.  _

* * *

 

He has its attention again.

Rung’s still not sure what exactly it is, though he’s inclined to say it’s the station itself. The  _ Normallicy _ isn’t marked as sparked or conscious, it doesn’t even have a drone or AI system running in it’s programming.

He’s no stranger to lies--or well kept secrets. 

It’s his job, after all.

They were warned about the power-surges before they had docked. Warned that things got a little weird but not to worry because it was just an older space station. Things ran just fine.

Rumor was, it was haunted.

Rung could see how people reached that conclusion. Often you felt optics on you, or the brush of a foreign field, when you were all alone. Sometimes in your hab, sometimes in other places. Things worked on their own apparently, though no one from the crew he’d come in with had any stories. 

They were all totally taken in by the _ Normallicy’s _ crew though. 

The station was the kind that saw a lot of traffic, and the crew that ran it wasn’t all that large. This was just a docking, re-charging, and refueling station. A place where Autobots could kick back for a bit on long trips, get off their own ship, have some down time with people they weren’t working with. 

Rung’s crew would be here for a month, getting some parts of their ship repaired. 

He was two weeks into that stay, and not once had he seen anything start “sparking purple” or move on their own.

He had felt the presence though. Particularly when it had swept by him. 

Rung was alone the first time it happened, on his way to his rented hab. Everyone had to stay off the ship while it was being repaired for the duration of their stay and so they’d all been given temporaries on the station--not a problem, as the place was built for people to do just that.

The presence, the same one he’d felt before had run up on him. The feeling of optics, of something watching. Of energy sweeping over him, passing him by.

Then it stopped.

Rung didn’t believe in ghosts. But the overwhelming feeling of something suddenly looking at him, truly  _ looking  _ at him was strong--so strong he’d frozen in place. 

He was a therapist though, above it all--and he’d heard enough horror stories in his life time to outright dismiss any possibility. Just because the station wasn’t supposed to be aware, didn’t mean it wasn’t.

“Hello.” He greeted, and felt the attention focus. “I’m Rung.” 

There wasn’t an answer. 

“I’m a psychotherapist.” He said. “My door is open to everyone. Even to those who aren’t supposed to exist.”

It felt silly, but then, he had two dozen cases of mechs who were forced into hiding, and a room full of ones who’d been abused in a similar, haunting way. If there was any chance here the “ghost” was in fact, someone being misused, or mistreated, Rung would not shut himself off from them. 

The attention finally slipped away. Left.

Rung took it as a dismissal, and continued on to his hab.

xXx

Rung liked games.

Particularly strategy and puzzle games. He often used them in therapy, working both with and against clients depending upon their personality, as a way to help them relax and discuss their issues. Sometimes even as a euphemism or tool to help them understand a problem they were working through.

This was how he ended up playing chess.

There was an Autobot server that allowed anonymous play, and Rung used it often as one of the few social outlets he could engage in. He made sure to change accounts often and to never speak to the other players beyond congratulations for a good game, but he made a point to play every night. 

Why not? It wasn’t like he was allowed into the bar.

Not on this station.

Tonight he was playing an AI, not quite in the mood to challenge another, real player. He’d been reprimanded once again for wasting his time--time he could be using to check in on other patients. There weren’t many therapists left in the Autobot army, and Rung had partially been brought on this particular ship because the path it was taking allowed him to drop in on many clients. 

He understood his Captain's point--agreed with it even. He shouldn’t be wasting time when he had work to do. Rung had booked a full schedule and had stuck to it--but the Captain of this ship was the kind who worked hard. He expected those around him to do it as well. 

_ “I gave the others time off because they need it.” He’d said, face stern. “You don’t.”  _

He was right.

Rung could fit in more clients.

It’d be more than a normal schedule, but then, this Captain already had him working more hours than he ever had before. Had pushed Rung--because he wasn’t a combatant. Wasn’t on the front-lines. 

Rung knew the importance of relaxing, of taking time off--but he also agreed.

Now that the war was rumored to be meeting its end, his work was just ramping up. 

So he took more clients on, and didn’t complain. 

Even when his off time was only six hours.

Rung had never been the kind to be able to simply go straight into recharge, and so he’d accepted that he’d need to allot an hour for games. 

Doing so much wasn’t the best for his mentality though, and so he’d been trying not to play against others. Just the AI.

Particularly since he’d gotten on his Captain’s ship. 

So Rung was surprised when a request was blinking at him, when he signed into the game server. Someone was requesting they play. 

That didn’t happen often--Rung wasn’t the best at these games. He wasn’t the worst either--just, someone in the middle. Average.

Invisible.

He took it as a sign though, and accepted the invitation. Soon, he was paired up and set to play.

His opponent didn’t say anything the entire match--but then, neither did he. 

xXx

For the rest of that week, Rung was challenged to a game. 

Same time, same player.

Every night.

It was a welcome break from the stress. Rung didn’t like to admit his work weighed on him, never once said it aloud--but he knew it ran his body down.

That wasn’t his patients’ fault! It wasn’t, really!

It was his.

The Functionalists had--quite literally--torn him apart and put him back together. They’d put him under surgery after surgery, and added more than one “addition” to his frame, in hopes of making him look acceptable. Normal. 

Coding had been rifled through, no piece of wiring left untouched. Rung’s mind had been just as open to them as his body was, and the result was a number of painful, aching reminders. His frame wasn’t made to hold wheels. No mech’s body created to be turned inside out. The weld lines, the replacements, the extra little fixes--each and every one still haunted him, in the form of overwhelming pain. 

Not always though. Most the time it was manageable. Just a few few tingles in the back, near his spine. Now and again it was more--a lot more--but those days were few, thankfully.

Running as he was, seeing as many patients as he was--well. 

Those days weren’t quite so few.

Today was one. Tensed plating refused to relax, crimping wires along Rung’s back. Something relentlessly stabbed at the base of his helm, every one threatening to black out his vision. The back pains were always the worst, when they acted up--it tended to trigger the others, simply by the way it affected him. Pinched plating in one place led to energon loss in another--interrupting his circulation and causing even more pain. 

It was difficult to get out of bed.

Rung had pain relievers for times like this and he used two just to get to his clients. The voice modulators the Functionalists had installed kept his voice even, and then other little hacked pieces of coding kept the pain off his face entirely. 

It cost him to use those things though. Cost him more than he’d care to admit.

Rung pushed through it all, knowing already what his Captain would say. The mech wasn’t aware of his time spent under the Functionalists--few were--but thousands of mechs had been tortured by Decepticons. They made it through their jobs everyday. And Rung, as the mech had already pointed out, “just sat there.” 

He was a mind healer, and his job was to heal minds. He could focus on that without his body working right, couldn’t he? It wasn’t like his aches and pains interfered with his processor? 

No.

Besides, he’d already caught the mech frowning at him when he’d stopped to say hello to a client in the mess hall. The Captain didn’t like him hanging around social areas, oh no. Rung wasn’t to socialize. This was a big thing for him on his ship. 

“I’m harder than most,” The mech had said at the beginning, when he’d introduced himself to Rung. Caught the little mech up on the “unwritten” rules. “But it’s for a reason. I don’t want anyone getting too comfortable with you--or me. I’m their Captain. You’re their Therapist. We shouldn’t be separated from our titles.”

Except of course, it was implied that off the ship, the Captain could very put his title aside. He was not in command of other mechs, oh no.

But Rung was. 

Not in command but--in a position of authority.

He couldn’t compromise his title.

The request on the terminal pinged, indicated he’d been invited for a game. He ignored it, unable to even himself into a seated position.

Today especially, he needed that full six hours of sleep.

The computer pinged again, some time later. Rung hadn’t missed a game once and the other player was likely asking about his absence. Rung would respond to it later.

Recharge was difficult to come by, though Rung had turned all lights off. Nothing quite seemed to ease any pains tonight, not even taking more than the suggested amount of painkillers. 

Going to the med suite was out of the question too--Rung’s files were sealed. No one was of a high enough level to unseal them, and thus, no one was truly privy to what caused his pain. He couldn’t be properly treated without someone knowing what caused them all. Besides, six of the med mechs were his patients. 

He knew already what his Captain would say if he tried to see them.

Doctor-patient confidentiality goes two ways.

So he sat, and suffered in the dark. Suffered for a long, long time--until suddenly, something was there. 

Rung opened his optics, squinting in the dark. 

Nothing.

He felt it though, the presence. Felt it as plainly as he could feel optics on his plating.

“I’m alright.” He told it, too tired to feel stupid for doing it. “I just--don’t feel well, tonight. Sorry.” 

Energy suddenly cackled in the air. 

That got his notice, and Rung’s eyes widened as purple static suddenly sparked overhead. A horrible, pressing tension centered down on his head and Rung cried out as the purple static leapt down to touch his plating. 

::Sorry.:: A heavily accented voice said, an unknown connection somehow hijacking his comms. ::I didn’t mean for that to hurt.::

“S’alright.” Rung gasped, automatically. The pain was subsiding, back no longer searingly, white hot, but instead back to the level it had been at. 

For a moment it felt as though something was scanning him, the same way a medic would--but the feeling wasn’t quite right. 

“What--” He croaked, trying to ask a question and completely unsure of what it was.

::I can fix you.:: The voice said, ignoring his half jumbled word. ::Would you like me to?:: 

He almost couldn't understand the question--but thankfully, the voice understood his frantic nodding for the affirmation it was. 

Later, Rung would wonder how they knew.

::Hold on.:: 

The world lit up.

It was hard to describe, harder almost to feel. Purple lights were everywhere, and it felt almost as if a dozen fingers were touching him at once. On and under his plating, flowing through him in bursts of energy. 

Spark-like energy almost, in the same way that this almost felt like--interfacing.

The thought had barely registered when the pain abruptly broke. The lights faded out, taking most of the aches with it, and suddenly Rung felt  _ free.  _

::It’s not perfect.:: The voice said, and Rung could hear the frown in it. He didn’t care--the pain was practically   _ gone. _ ::You’re too far away from me to do anything permanent. But this should help.::

Rung raised a hand up, flexed it.

Nothing. Just a dull ache. 

He sobbed on reflex, the pain gone so suddenly that it felt odd without it. “Thank you.” He managed to get out, gasping and choking and crying all at once. _ “Thank you.” _

::You shouldn’t be running as hard as you are.:: The voice chided gently. ::Tell your Captain he’s a  _ \--X.: _ : 

Rung didn’t understand the last word, but he got the meaning. 

It wasn’t nice. 

He tried to protest--the Captain was just the kind of mech to run a hard ship, that was all--but the presence abruptly left. 

Rung tried to contact it for a minute but the strange connection was broken. Gone. 

Rung thanked the ceiling instead. Over and over, until he finally managed to fall to sleep.

 

XXX

This was the best he’d felt in days.

Waking up hadn’t hurt him. Instead he felt refreshed, rejuvenated. Young even!

He was able to power through the day, power through doing more paperwork than he been able to accomplish for a while. He’d gotten organized, even! 

Not even the challenging patients got him down, and he remained in a happy mood when he returned to his hab.

Three messages awaited him.

The first two were the request to play a game, and a follow up that simply asked if he was alright, and that the game could be rescheduled if need be.

The third was another request--though this time, the player had taken themselves off anonymous.

Duelstrike, it said.

Rung paused. Stared at it.

The entire reason he played on the anonymous servers was because the mechs couldn’t know who he was--and he, likewise, couldn’t know it was them. More than likely he was playing patients, but by everyone being anonymous, it allowed him to play through reasonable doubt. He couldn’t know who it was.

With a heavy spark, he ran the name through his databases.

There weren’t any hits.

With a frown, Rung tried again, running the name not just through his database, but through the Autobot’s database as a whole. The ones the medics worked off of to locate patients. 

No hits.

Duelstrike wasn’t an Autobot.

_ ‘If they even exist.’  _ His thoughts supplied, and that ended up being the reason he accepted the challenge. Played the game.

Because Duelstrike had revealed themselves tonight for a reason. Perhaps, they were using a fake name.

Perhaps they were the voice, the power that had interfered last night, and taken away his pain. 

Maybe it was a completely random coincidence. There was only one way to find out. 

_ Would you like to talk? _ He typed, midway through their second game. They had taken to playing three, unless the first two went on for too long. 

Immediately, Rung got his answer. 

_ No. _

Well then. So much for that. 

xXx

He played Duelstrike five more times before they said anything else.

When they did, it was to ask when his ship was leaving the station.

_ How do you know I’m on a station? _ He’d written back. 

_ Because the station you’re on is mine.  _ Was the reply. 

Are you the station itself? Rung asked. His curiosity--and his mind--had been getting the best of him. This was the most he’d been involved with socially for longer than he cared to admit. He knew better than anyone not to push for information--that those who wanted information given, would give it. Particularly in this context--outside of a therapy session.

A brief pang went through him, that his default frame for social interactions was a therapy session instead of just--a normal interaction, but he let it pass. 

The terminal chimed--Duelstrike had written back.  _ Something like that.  _

Something like that. Rung thought for a moment, curiosity growing. He was usually excellent at ferreting out the little grains of truth when people spoke, and reading was no different. It did imply at least, that the mech was on the station--which, given their gaming history, meant that he could invite them out for a round in person. 

Rung paused seconds after the thought went through his head, chest tightening with stress. He blinked, took a moment to find the cause--and remembered his Captain's warnings. Of course. 

It wouldn’t be polite to see non-patients in his actual office but the one on the station was a loner, and Rung felt no real attachment to it. It was simply a quiet place where he could talk to patients alone. Inviting a potential friend in for a game would do it no harm. 

That it meant he was purposefully avoiding the topic with his Captain was acknowledged--known. Rung wasn’t an idiot. This was something his Captain would be upset by, but also, something he felt worth doing. 

Particularly if there was any connection at all to the lights. The healing. 

_ If you’re willing, I’ve love to play against you in person.  _ Rung typed. 

This time the response took a touch longer. Text messages couldn’t “sound” or “feel” hesitant, but this one did it anyway.  

Perhaps, Rung thought to himself with a little self-deprecating mirth, he’d spent too much time analyzing patients if he was applying emotions to concepts such as time. 

Finally though, a reply was sent. 

_ I’ll consider it.  _ It read.

Fair enough. He’d done his part, opened the door. All there was left to do was to see if Duelstrike would walk through it. 

xXx

They never did. 

 

xXx

Something had poisoned the ghost.

That was the only way the mechs on the station knew to put it. What had been playful and fun before had taken an abrupt and malevolent turn,and twice now mechs had loudly accused it of trying to kill them.

Rung wasn’t certain about that--but then, he wasn’t certain it was the same ghost either.

It was entirely possible it was. Just as it was possible whatever--or whoever it was, had a change of spark.  

The station staff dismissed it, but more than once, Rung had caught them discussing it among themselves. How it was “doing it again.” 

How to make it stop. 

Rung himself took careful note of the changes. He wouldn’t have, before--but ever since that day with the lights, ever since he’d been healed…

It just wasn’t smart to brush things off. 

Not anymore. 

Said changes weren’t instantaneous. If one paid attention, it almost felt as though there was a fight for control happening. Rung personally still saw the lights, as he’d taken to calling them, at least twice more. Fighting off the darkness through sheer will alone. 

He also saw the illusion of shadows deepening. Creeping after him, as though intending to swallow him whole. 

Nervous energy filled everyone because of it. 

People walked in pairs now. Took pains to notice one another.

Several even, took notice of Rung.

Which is where a different story started, one that would change the course of Rung’s life forever, but before it did--before anything like that happened--the “darker” presence took notice of him.

Same as the other had. 

It swept over him, then paused; giving Rung the feeling that something had turned back. Was staring at him.

Examining him. 

The air became thick enough to choke on. The hallway grew darker, tension suddenly pouring in. 

Whatever its intentions where, it was clear it was no longer friendly.    
  


The presence “crept” closer, as a feeling of impending doom washed over Rung. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move himself, but equally unable to calm his own fears. There was nothing there that he could see, and yet, his proximity alerts had popped on his HUD, shrieking as though a Decepticon was near. 

Static buzzed, followed by a loud pop! As an overhead light exploded. Light burst from it, striking the ground in a circle pattern about him.  Rung’s hands jerked to shield his face. 

When he lowered them, the striking electricity had turned purple. 

It appeared to dance with the shadows for a moment, the two going back and fourth.

Fighting. 

Abruptly the hallway Rung was trapped in seeming to bend and twist. It was an impossible feeling to describe, and later, when Rung spoke of it, the best comparison he can give was that the he was shoved out of time. Things just went--non--linear, for a moment. 

What he doesn’t say is that it felt like there was a battle of wills. Two presences, two forces of nature. 

Arguing over him. 

It ceases the same way it had began, the lights leaving with an audio-shattering pop! while the shadows flee. 

The therapist finds himself left alone, plating shaking and ventilations coming in short, as the feeling of danger finally eases. 

After that day nothing else happens--at least, nothing with them. Duelstrike or the other being, for the entire duration of Rung’s stay on the station.

Other things happen, other people happen. A wondrous occurrence begins in that station, that brings Rung’s focus elsewhere.

He has the oddest dream the night his ship finally leaves the station. The purple holts of energy fly over his head, then touch down, onto him. A small--something. Person?  Presence? (Upon waking Rung isn’t sure. If it was a person they were roughly the size of a minibot but they had moved--oddly. Organically.) had touched him.

Stood on him, in fact, and looked at him what he thinks might have been optics. The memory is too fuzzy, as though it was blurred over. Partially erased.  

He feels amazing though. Better than ever before.

For the sake of his own mental health, he puts it aside. Forgets about it. Attributes  any real changes in himself to the actual, _ real _ new friends he has made, and happily boards his ship without another thought. 

After all this time being alone, he is finally wanted. 

xXx

It had started innocently enough.

A nod there, a hi or two here. A conversation, held in an oddly long line while they were waiting to refuel. All over the weird, potential ghost haunting that old station. 

By the time Rung accepted the mech’s invitation to dine alone, it was too late.

Rules were made for a reason. The ethics board was created, for a  _ reason _ . Boundaries had to be set and maintained--and Rung had to be the one to keep them. 

He knew that.

Considering how his Captain had been acting, had always acted, he couldn’t even pretend that he’d forgotten.

Not that he would. Rung fully, accepted the blame. 

This was his doing. 

Gazing between the bars of the brig’s cell, Rung traced his failure to the mystery mech whose identity he had yet to uncover. Duelstrike had never once taken him up on his offer, had in fact, not spoken much beyond that single conversation--but others had.

It was as if, by asking Duelstrike to socialize, he’d opened the door for everyone else too. As if by reaching out to one person, everyone else had suddenly realized Rung existed, and took notice of him when they all had a common topic to converse about. 

On the station, a whole group of mechs had abruptly set out to include him in things and refused to accept his dodging. More than once they had rolled their optics and agreed about their “horribly, stubborn” Captain.

“He’s just tightly wound, you know.” One mech had said playfully, as they pulled Rung away from said Captain’s line of sight. “He believes in the old ways. We’re honestly all surprised he ended up as an Autobot.” 

Rung wasn’t, but then, Rung knew what they didn’t--that more mechs than you’d think were Autobots purely because they had risen to oppose the Decepticons. Senators, politicians, rule makers--if they hadn’t fled as a neutral, they had picked things up as an Autobot. For many of them, their power had simply been lost in the shuffle. 

For a few more, their former lives had been purposefully hidden, so as to not attract the attention of Decepticons out to kill them. 

Rung didn’t think the Captain was this kind of mech, but it was clear he was absolutely definite on his versions of black and white. 

Rung agreed with him on most things--but this new group, these mechs who seemed to want to be around him--didn’t. Their opinions challenged the Captain's--and thus, Rung’s own.

“Why shouldn’t you have friends?” A particular one, a special one, grumbled, when Rung had finally broken down and admitted why they could not be social. Could only take about the “haunted station” and nothing more.  “Seems illogical to me. Harmful, even!” 

The rest had agreed. No matter what Rung said from then on, they had been convinced. 

The Captain was wrong. 

Rung’s mistake was believing them. 

The special one, the one who hung out with Rung more than any others, who had pursued him, first as a friend, and then as something...more, had been his true downfall. His greatest sin.

Rung had been tempted, then allowed himself to be swayed--and finally, destroyed. 

_ “I don’t expect them to know better.” His Captain had snarled, face nearly rabid in anger, “But you should have. This isn’t any of their faults--it was yours. You didn't just let this happen. You  _ caused _ it. You told them this was okay. As far as I am concerned, you manipulated them to let you get away with what you wanted.”  _

Rung agreed. 

Looking back now, he vaguely wondered if all this was due to Duelstrike’s influence. If being healed had changed him. If allowing himself to reach out to someone as a friend had led him down the path to accepting patients as friends. Would have he been more like it to talk about the ghost if he hadn’t been so caught up in trying to puzzle out Duestrike? Or was that simply him placing blame on someone nameless? 

It was so easy to see now, that the group that had approached him had done so because he had his own experience with the ghost.But worst of all--that was what had lead _ him _ to Rung. The special one. 

The Captain had made it clear this was his fault--and his second and third in commands backed him up. They had announced to the entire ship Rung’s deceit, how he was not only friends with active patients of his, but how he had gone on to sleep with one. How he’d betrayed them all. 

It didn’t matter that his patient was one he’d only seen once, at the Captain’s insistence. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted therapy, or that the Captain had assigned him to Rung without asking. It didn’t matter that he had pursued him. Rung had a moral ethic to uphold. 

An ethic he had failed. 

_ “You trusted this mech!” His Captain had announced coldly, during the ship trial that had been called afterwards. “You gave him your secrets, your hurts and pains, and see how he used you! He’s broken his oath, he could spill his secrets to anyone!”  _

Rung had protested--he had never once revealed anyone else's secrets! But it hadn’t mattered by then. 

Nothing had.

Now everything was over. Done.

_ “I hope you sit here and think long and hard if this was worth it.” The Captain had sneered, upon locking Rung in the brig. “If putting yourself above others got you anywhere.”  _

It wasn’t--and it hadn’t. 

Helm in hands, Rung curled in on himself, mind replaying the looks of revulsion and disgust present on his shipmates faces at his trial. 

He wanted to die.

 

xXx

Three days later, the ship crashed.

xXx

He couldn’t remember how he got out of the ship. Just suddenly found himself outside, that odd, purple light dancing over his plating. Little zaps of electricity that he couldn’t feel. Rung watched it for some time, trying to get his mind pieced back together.

Something had struck the ship. The entire thing had shuddered, lurching wildly. 

Then it had fallen from the sky, from space and the stars, pulled into a nearby planet’s gravitational field and smashed into the ground. 

The very same ground he was laying on, had been laying on. 

For how long?

He let that question guide the rest of his thoughts, stitching it all together, until finally he made the decision to stand. 

Rung put his hands flat to the ground. Pushed until he could get his pedes under him. 

He turned once he’d regained his balance, audios ringing with feedback, plating awashed in flickering light,  to stare at the sight of his entire ship burning. 

It was a good thing, his audios had been damaged. Good that the shock had set in.

It prevented him from hearing the screaming. 

xXx

Therapy sessions were the same. 

Year after year, patient after patient.

The only difference was how Rung viewed his own job--and his own self.

The voices of the functionalists echoed all around him, and a deep rooted part of him, a part buried even further now, sometimes liked to compare the current times to that of theirs. 

The only difference these days, was that people were simply picking their functions. 

Oh, some could stray, and the class systems had been completely overhauled, but the classism, the way mechs certain others were lesser than them, that never went away. Not truly. They had come far, since the war. Things had changed.

Some days, that dark part of Rung sneered that it had only changed in how it presented itself. It was simply hidden now, instead of being in your face. 

Rung ignored it. All of it. His own feelings, his own desires. Himself. 

He had played with fire. He’d almost been disbarred. Had, technically, been disbarred. And what would he do then if someone discovered it? What would center his life if he couldn’t maintain his practice?

He had no friends. No family.

No one even remembered his name.

That stung. Stung deep inside, but Rung ignored it all and slapped a smile on his face. 

He was fine. He had his practice.

He had nothing else to live for.

xXx

It’s easy to twist things up in your head when the only person you can talk to is yourself.

Logically, Rung knew this.

Even worse, he knew how things were becoming twisted. He knew that the things he thought, the things his former Captain had said, the things those who had died had said, were shifting  in his mind. The memories were growing fangs, the tone of them changing. 

He knew what he remembered now, the layers of distrust, disdain, disgust--was fake.

But some of it was true.

It was that grain of truth that caused the most hurt. That grain of truth that let everything else spiral out of control.  

It’s why he still clung to the online, anonymous games. He needed a social outlet or he’d go insane. He’d long since stopped playing with Duelstrike, the mech and their mystery too closely tied to everything that had happened on the downed ship.

Nevermind the lights that had saved him once again, the lights he had attributed to that mystery mech… 

He was stuck between wanting to puzzle it all out, and refusing to have anything to do with it. One option was easier than the other and that was the option Rung went with, had went with, for as long as he’d been a lone survivor. 

The requests to play with them had long since died out. Rung hadn’t heard from them in forever, had in fact, once looked and found the entire Station put into dysfunction. 

Whatever--whoever--Duelstrike was, they were gone. 

Just as Rung was. 

There was no reason to think of them. No reason to remember.

That didn’t stop the lights from appearing now and then, though. That didn’t stop the memory, of something that didn’t move quite right. 

But it was easy to dismiss it all as a trick of sleep deprivation, of stress. It was easy to explain it all away. 

Even if it felt wrong to do so. 

 

xXx

The _Lost Light_ changed things.

Made people aware of him, once again. 

It was horrifying, and for a while Rung did his best to pull himself back, into the shadows, but the craziness kept pulling him back out. 

That deep, buried dark part liked to place blame on Rodimus. Rung knew that was unfair, knew that wasn’t like him, that it was simply the posionsed backlash of emotions and feelings that happened when you forced everything into a bottle, but he felt it anyways. Rodimus wasn’t his old Captain. Rodimus was nothing like his old Captain, was in fact, like the special person Rung had once harmed--and that hurt, more than anything. Because Rung knew where Rodimus would stand, if he decided to be friends with the crew. Knew the moral backbone of the ship was corrupt. 

Had even managed to corrupt Ultra Magnus, of all mechs. 

It didn’t help that Rodimus had physically used him as bait.

Mostly though, it was that the barriers were harder to hold, here. People kept bridging the gap, wanting to get involved in his life. 

Wanted to remember him. Befriend him. 

That shouldn’t have been horrifying, but it was. He wasn’t allowed friends. Not so long as he held his business! 

Eventually it came down to Whirl, of all mechs. Whirl, who redirected a crazed Fortress Maximus onto himself. Whirl who had snareld that he was defending his  _ friend.   _

The realization bloomed then, that no matter what Rung did, other people would consider him to be their friends. No matter what he did, or how he reacted--they could make that choice. Hold that opinion. Or at least, people like Whirl would. The ‘copter didn’t befriend easily and Rung was still in a state of shock that the mech had made that mental leap--but the reality was there. 

He was back at square one, all over again.

The ramifications came with a misplaced gunshot, and Rung spent a very long time trying to regain himself after his head (literally) exploded, but even that caused a group of people to rally around him. Try and help him.

Because they claimed he was there friend. 

It made things difficult. It made Rung face things about himself, about his old Captain and the ethical code he followed. Made him consider and reconsider things.

Eventually, it made him retire. 

It was a decision that wasn’t made lightly, that was in fact, made for Rung’s own mental health. Sorting through what was healthy and what was wrong was...difficult. In the end it was just easier for Rung to maintain the thought that he couldn’t keep his practice while being friends, and that to move on in life, to be healthier and happier, it was time for him to quite. 

He knew he was disappointing people by his decision, but for the first time in a long time, he felt free. 

Or so he thought. 

Three months after his retirement, Rung stared at the Lost Light’s updated schedule and felt his spark sink into his stomach. 

There, in bold letters, was their next stop. 

A defunct space station called  _ Normallicy.  _


End file.
